Fair Treatment

"Stiffy has just baked fresh buns. Master Harry wants some, sir?"

"No, thank you."

"They is very good buns, sir, Stiffy has just learn a new recipe."

"Eh? What kind of buns?"

"Stiffy has baked three kinds, sir: with blueberries, raspberries and sauerkraut, sir. Master Harry won't have one, sir?"

"No, really, I'm fine."
"Then Stiffy will bring a plate for Master Thomas, sir."

"God, now he wants buns. That's really too much."

Harry Potter was not very used to having guests. Hermione and Ron, who stayed sometimes, didn't really count, and his other friends, who spent a day or two in the attic guest room, left too early to make any lasting impression. Therefore the prolonged visit of Thomas Landowner was starting to tax Harry's nerves, even though his guest spent most of the time in the Ravenclaw window bay reading various books and documents, and was generally invisible. He even occasionally helped in the bookshop. He didn't demand company, didn't listen to loud music, in short he was as good guest as one could expect. With one exception. The cuisine.

Harry didn't mind good food. Quite the contrary - after his often hungry childhood, eating in Hogwarts or at the Burrow was like heaven to him. After he finally settled, he discovered the joy of a good meal, of a home-made dish, so different from the restaurant fare he ate during his wanderings. He was not above letting Hermione persuade him to check out a new place or Ron urging him to sample a not-yet-tried beer. But it was really nice to be sure that at home he'd have his always perfectly grilled chops, in which Stiffy took great pride. The elf was a sweetie, really. He never tired of preparing fragrant coffee, he baked his own bread, from which he made excellent toast with even better orange marmalade. He made sure there was a lot of variety, offering Harry other preserves as well, and experimenting with different sorts of bacon to go with the morning eggs.

So Harry was used to varied and tasty meals, but he had also had first hand experience of cooking from his Dursley years, so he took care not to overwork the poor creature, especially as Stiffy was taking care of the house alone, as Whacky was always busy in the bookshop. Harry's guest obviously had no such qualms.

For a week they explored the realm of English puddings and stews. Then they moved onto the Continent, and tarts and quiches dominated the table. Different roasts and increasing variety of sausages marked their march east. After a short excursion to the north (herring and salmon) they continued their eastward journey and were met with thick soups, pickles, mushrooms and baked pies. Through October they tried at least forty kinds of dumplings. It seemed to Harry that Stiffy, for such a thoroughly English house-elf , was fully at home with names like bramborove knedliky or halushki. He didn't even stumble over vyprazhany syr, which took Harry three trials to pronounce properly, when Stiffy announced the menu. Then November brought a radical change - the elf and the man who led him into temptation, that is, Landowner, Apparated into the Middle Kingdom. Harry was then too busy with pre-Christmas rush in the shop to complain, so he only thanked Hermione for teaching him how to use chopsticks.

He wouldn't have said a word if it were not for the desserts. They punctuated their culinary journey with their mismatched variety, taste always suiting the main course, but never coming from the same area. Tortes and fruit salads, ice-creams and pastries, sherbets and creams appeared and disappeared at Landowners's whim and Stiffy was working out of hours to prepare yet another kind of soufflé. Harry supposed he didn't even get enough sleep, as the warm breads proved the elf had spent his nights tending the oven. And now Landowner wouldn't even take normal biscuits for tea. No, he had to have freshly baked buns.

"Stiffy, you needn't bake buns twice per day".

"I is not baking buns twice per day, Master Harry, sir."

"This very morning we had warm bread."

"Yes, sir, Stiffy made a loaf. Master Harry liked it, sir?"

"So you are baking twice per day."

"It was bread, sir, and Master Harry was asking about buns." Stiffy explained, as to a not very bright child.

"Don't pick on what I say, Stiffy, you know what I'm talking about. Landowner is our guest, but you don't have to work all night to fulfil his every whim."

"But Master Thomas asked Stiffy..."

"That's what I mean. He is a guest, but you should cook as usual. He is a guest, but it doesn't mean he shouldn't treat you right."

"Master Thomas treats Stiffy very right. Master Thomas is always thanking Stiffy and saying Stiffy is a good elf and good cook..."

"Stiffy, you know you're a good elf. You need not slave to earn cheap compliments."

"I is only wanting to make tea for Master Thomas, sir!"

"If he wants tea, let him come and make it. I can make my own tea, he can, too!"

All the signs were that Thomas Landowner did want his tea, because at this very moment he came into the kitchen.

"Hi, Harry. Stiffy, may I have a cup of tea?"

"Help yourself," barked Harry.

"Sure," Thomas took a kettle, "want some?"

"Stiffy will make tea, sir, what tea Master Thomas is wanting?"

"He can cope."

"But Stiffy wants to make tea!"

"No, you don't."

Landowner froze with a box of leaves in his hand.

"Is there a problem? I can make the tea myself, really."

"Yes, there is a problem. You don't need to order Stiffy around all the time. He has enough to do, without making you tea ten times a day."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize. He was always so cheerful about it..."

"Of course he is cheerful! He was trained to be cheerful, no matter what! Chop his hand off and he'll be cheerful. And you're exploiting this with your bread and fresh buns and..."

"I'm really sorry. Stiffy, you should have said a word..."

"I is not saying anything!"

"Of course he won't say a thing!"

"Stiffy was happy to bake buns! Master Thomas wants some, sir?"

"No, maybe not this time, thanks."

"Master Thomas does not like Stiffy's buns? Stiffy baked them well!"

"He is a living creature, you know. He needs to sleep, not to mix dough all night. Or prepare some ridiculous food-"

"Nobody complained! Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"-one day a potroast in beer, another day some bog...bogr... bogtch-

"Bogracsgulyas," supplemented Stiffy.

"-por...per-"

"Pörkölt."

"Then mayi-something-"

"-shangshu."

"Don't you think you've taken your expensive tastes far enough?"

"Well, Harry, you really should have said something earlier. And there's nothing expensive about those dishes. Just veggies and chuck. Or minced meat and noodles. A quarter of the price of the lamb chops you ordered when Dean came. And second...

"That's not the point. Stiffy doesn't need to be overburdened..."

"And second," continued Landowner, "if I overstayed my welcome, you just had to say the word. You asked me to come, you offered to put me up, but it's no problem for me to finish my work elsewhere."

"I is not wanting Master Thomas to go, sir."

"Be quiet, Stiffy. You can stay as long as you want, I told you, but you have to..."

"Stiffy will not be able to cook!"

"Of course you will, Stiffy."

"Tis not cooking." The elf sounded resentful.

"And the desserts! You've made him make more desserts in two months than I have in last two years."

"All right, all right!" Thomas raised his hands. "I get the point. I'm sorry, he looked happy about it. I'm sorry. I'll go and pack."

"I'm not telling you to pack!"

"Why is Thomas packing?"

Ron and Hermione came in, with Winky trotting behind them. Harry exhaled, exasperated. He had forgotten he had asked them for supper.

"Hi, Hermione, Ron. I'll tell you later, okay? Now I'll..."

"Don't make a show out of it, Landowner. I'm only asking you to restrain your tastes a bit."

"Restrain tastes?" Hermione was puzzled, "you mean appetite?"

"Oh, buns. You baked them, Stiffy? Excellent!"

The elf beamed. "Master Ron wants tea, sir?"

"We will have supper in a moment," said Harry.

"Great. What goodies have you made, Stiffy?"

"He baked first-class bread this morning. We will have sandwiches and tea. Will you see to this, Stiffy?"

The elf looked at him defiantly, than turned to Landowner.

"What is Master Thomas wanting for supper, sir?"

"I think, Stiffy that you should ask Harry."

The elf didn't turn round, but started to wring his hands with such force that his long fingers were cracking at the joints. "Master Harry is not knowing, sir," he said, face screwed up with pain, "Stiffy is asking Master Thomas, sir, because Master Thomas knows."

"Please, Stiffy, don't do this."

"Yes, Stiffy, cut it out. Make those sandwiches, okay?"

"Stiffy does not want to make sandwiches!" The elf lunged for the stove and grabbed the pan. Harry, well acquainted with elves, pulled it from his hands and put it aside, but Stiffy seized the kettle and dumped the boiling water on his head. Hermione and Winky screamed. Stiffy screamed, too. Louder.

"Stiffy is a bad elf, but Stiffy does not want to make sandwiches! Aah! Bad elf! Doesn't want! Pains! Will punish, but will not make sandwiches! Aah!"

Hermione jumped towards him, her wand spraying white foam. She was trying to apply a painkiller to his burns and restrain him from further punishments all at once, so the results were, for the moment, limited at best. Only after Ron came to her aid and used a stronger binding to keep the elf still, did she manage to apply the spell properly, but even covered in white goo and looking like a famished, bat-eared snowman, Stiffy was still boo-hooing rebelliously.

"Here, take this." Harry handed Hermione a vial from the medicine cabinet. "Stiffy, calm down. I order you to calm down and I forbid you to hurt yourself, do you understand?'

"Wooo... woo..." was all he got in response.

"Ehr... Harry?'

"Yes? What do you want?"

"I'm sorry I provoked all this, but I think you underestimate Stiffy a bit."

"What the hell do you mean?"

"You know, he's a great cook. An artist. And..."

"So I'm supposed to work him like a slave round the clock, yes?"

"No, but give him a chance to show his skills."

"He shows his skills all the time. He cooks, bakes, fries, roasts, marinates, pickles and Merlin knows what else."

"But the same fare all the time! He needs a challenge!"

"Good point!" Ron got up from his knees and wiped the foam from his hands.

"Stay out of it, Ron. You don't give a damn about Stiffy. For you it's all about your belly."

"That's not true!"

"Yes, it is." Hermione also got up. "You should be fine now, Stiffy."

"Would you ask Liszt to play 'Mary had a little lamb'? Or Michelangelo to paint your fence?"

"He would gladly do it, sir!"

"What?" Landowner was puzzled.

"If Master Thomas wants his fence painted, sir, Winky said Michelangelo would gladly do it, sir! He owes Winky a favour and he is a good..."

"Winky, I'm talking about a painter..."

"Michelangelo is a very good painter, sir! He painted Master Crouch's kitchen when Winky was still..."

"Winky, the Michelangelo I'm talking about is dead! He was a Muggle, not a-"

"Muggle, indeed." Hermione rolled her eyes. "Haven't you read Vasari?"

"Yes, I did read Vasari. Surprised, Hermione?"

"Wizarding edition?"

"Oh, God. No. Okay, yes, you're right, but that's beside the point! The point is you can't ask an artist to perform below..."

"Don't get poetical at me; it's not about artists, but about fair treatment."

"Harry Potter is right, sir!"

"Thank you, Winky."

"So I don't think it's fair..."

"Harry Potter is right, sir!"

"Yes, Winky, thanks. So it's not fair for Stiffy..."

"Harry Potter is right, sir! It is not fair for Winky, too!"

"What?"

"Winky is glad Harry Potter understood, sir. I always said Master Harry would, but Stiffy said..."

"You be quiet Winky! Stiffy is a good elf! Never said anything bad about Master Harry! Master Harry is a good Master."

"You see, Landowner, even Stiffy..."

"But Master Potter makes Stiffy unhappy! Stiffy is a good elf, never said anything bad, Winky, you is bad..."

"I is telling the truth! And Miss Hermione is the same! Doesn't allow Winky to be good elf!"

"But Winky, you're the best elf possible."

"Don't bother Winky, I'll eat something outside."

The imitation of Hermione's voice was perfect - as far as her squeaky elf's voice allowed. They all stared down in amazement. Winky blushed and hid her face in her hands.

"Well, I think this proves my point."

"It does nothing of the sort!"

"Look, Hermione..."

"Don't you 'look Hermione' me."

"But she wants you to be happy!"

"I'm perfectly happy, thank you very much, without wearing Winky out!"

"All right, all right, I give up." Ron slumped down on the chair. "Stiffy, can I have one of those buns?"

"You're thinking-"

"Immediately, Master Ron, sir!"

"-with your stomach again!"

"But he's happy, aren't you Stiffy? Somebody appreciated him."

"Yes, Mister Ron Weasley, sir! Stiffy is happy when Masters likes his food."

"Winky too! Winky wants her Miss to like her food, but Miss is not liking, Miss wants to eat outside or eats only yoghurt and fruits and Winky can not even peel them for Miss!"

"The peel has the most of the vitamins!"

"Winky is feeling useless! Tis not fair!"

"Tis not! I is wanting to cook! Stiffy wants to be good elf!"

"But you're working too much!"

"Stiffy is not working too much! Stiffy is bored, I has nothing to do!"

"What? Come on Stiffy, I'm not Hermione, you have the whole house to clean, you cook three meals a day..."

"Cook?" The contempt in the elf's voice could hardly be deeper. "Eggs on bacon? Toasts? Tis not cooking! Stiffy is talking real cooking! Stiffy was making six courses for breakfast in Master Draco's house!"

"Who would eat six courses for breakfast?!"

"What's the problem with six cour..."

"Ron!"

"Okay, okay, I'm not saying anything."

"Stiffy." Harry squatted down to look straight in his elf's large, tear-brimmed eyes. "I think you're a magnificent cook. Your sauces..."

But the situation was beyond repair now. Years of grief burst out of Stiffy's small chest. "Stiffy wants to be a good elf! Mater Harry is not allowing him! I is ve-ry unhappy, si-irr! I wants to coook... Stif-ffy is-is afr-rraaid hhhee wwwil forgggeeeet...." The rest was drowned in tearful wailing and babbling in which only "good elf", "bad elf", "cooking" and "Harry Potter" could be understood.

"Oh, God." Harry stood up and rubbed his face. "What I was supposed to do. I meant well."

"Of course you did."

"The road to hell..." muttered Ron. He and Landowner did their best to keep straight faces, but didn't quite succeed.

"Honestly, Ron, just look around! You can't say he was not doing anything! This poor creature washes, cleans the house, tends the garden...."

The last words had an unexpected result. Stiffy stopped crying, straightened and balled his small fists.

"Yes, Miss Hermione is right! For twelve years Stiffy's has been growing the best herbs in Harry Potter's garden, sir, and what can he do with them?" His voice was bitterer then mugwort. "Eight years ago I has got Special Savoury Salvia and how many times was I using it?! Thrice!"

"And once was when I asked for prune-stuffed roast," muttered Landowner under his breath, but too loud anyway.

"Yes!" Stiffy walked to him and wrapped his arms around his leg. Landowner looked rather uneasy at this sudden display of affection. "Master Thomas is a good master, who allows Stiffy to be a good elf! Stiffy is growing apples and pears and peaches and is exchanging with other elves, yes, Stiffy spends lots of time to get good bargain and what does Master Harry want for his toasts? Marmalade! Stiffy is saying 'what kind of marmalade is Master Harry wanting, sir?' and Master Harry says, 'Whatever. Orange will do.' I is having twelve hundred and eighty three jars of forty eight kinds of jams and preserves." He unstuck himself from Landowner' leg, leaving traces of medical foam, and marched to the huge cupboard. With a dramatic sweep he threw the doors open. "And what does Master Harry ask for? Orange marmalade!"

"Wow...." The cupboard was crammed with rows and rows of jars. The shelves were bent under their weight and the walls bulged out. The whole thing looked ready to burst at any moment.

"Ron." Hermione's growl conveyed a clear warning.

"Twelve hundred..."

"I am not so surprised," said Landowner, even though his expression proved he lied, "After I've seen his pantry."

"What's in the pantry?"

"Ron, if your eyes bulge any more, you'll find them in your lap. Honestly, you're not fifteen anymore! More than twice that age!"

"Yes, what's so special about my pantry?"

"For goodness sake, Potter, have you ever been in your own pantry?"

"Of course I have!" Harry got indignant, "Who do you think I am? I live here, you know!"

"Ten galleons if you show me where is it."

The whole situation was really grating on Harry's nerves and he was starting to get a headache. A bad one. "Here." He pointed to the door with his wand.

"Not this cubicle." Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, because the cubicle in question was twelve by ten feet. "The real pantry."

Harry stared at him. Landowner sighed, crossed the kitchen and stood by the door.

"That's the entry to the coal-cellar, you know."

Thomas rapped a distinct two-three rhythm on the door and it swung open.

They saw a dimly lit room disappearing into the darkness. On the right side four heavily laden shelves stretched from the door into the shadows at the other, invisible end. The left side was taken over by stacks of barrels, racks full of bottles and demijohns, and baskets of apples and other fruits. Bunches of dried herbs hung beside rings of sausage and smoked hams, cuts of bacon and peppered pork fat. Vats for marinating meats stood side by side with china barrels for sugar and flour.

"Oh, my. Harry, you've become a real aristocrat. Ten years of living here and you still don't know where your pantry is."

"He is a man of spirit."

"Sure, Hermione. He always was, weren't you, Harry?"

"God..." Harry swallowed. Hard. "Where did it all come from?"

Stiffy, much cheered by the impression his stocks had made, collapsed on the floor. The foam where his little face should be, contorted and he burst into desperate howls. "Harry Potter doesn't trust Stiffy!"

"Oh, no," Hermione knelt at his side and took him into her arms, "Stiffy, please, Harry meant nothing of the kind, he trusts you, he was just surprised..."

"Yes, sure, Stiffy, of course, trust I you, been just surprised, who could I, I mean you..."

"Harry, are those bottles full?" Ron cut through Harry's nervous babbling.

"How I'm supposed to know? I didn't even know I had them! I don't know what they're doing here! Sorry, Stiffy!" he added quickly, because the last sentence had resulted in another yowl from the unhappy elf.

"Potter, I honestly don't know what world you live in. Does it need guests who overstay their welcome for you to start reading your mail?"

"Mail? What's mail got to do with it?"

Shaking his head, Landowner went to the post tray and shuffled through the stack of envelopes. He picked one and tore it open.

"Dear Mr. Potter, blah blah, as Christmas is coming, blah blah, best wishes, blah blah... ah yes, listen: as a small token of my appreciation for saving us from Voldemort, blah blah, twelve pound turkey, blah blah," he lifted his eyes from the parchment. "I too think the younger ones are more tender. Oh, here it is: thank you for your kind words about my poultry and I hope you will enjoy this one too. Yours sincerely, blah blah."

"This one too?"

"So it says."

"So there were previous ones before."

"Most certainly so."

"And there are more such letters?"

"I guess so."

"And what happened to all those turkeys?"

"Harry, don't be daft!" Hermione lifted her head. "I'm sure Stiffy has them all preserved for you, haven't you, Stiffy?"

The Elf snorted loudly and wiped his eyes with his kitchen towel. "Of course Stiffy has. Stiffy is a good elf, he is never throwing away good food."

Harry passed a hand over his face and rubbed his chin. "Yes. Well. Stiffy, how many turkeys do we have in... in the pantry?"

"Forty seven, Harry Potter, sir!" chirped the elf, very proud.

"Still edible?"

"Stiffy is the best elf for Freezing Charms!" piped Winky.

"And why didn't you tell me?"

"Master Harry never asked, sir!" Stiffy sounded offended again.

"Well, no more I did... But how come I've never seen those letters?"

"Master Harry asked Whacky to sort his post for him, sir, and Whacky is doing it every day!"

"And you accepted all these turkeys and other things?"

"Of course, Harry Potter, sir, Stiffy and Whacky are good elves. We is not wasting anything!"

"And you wrote the responses?"

"Whacky is good secretary elf, Master Harry, sir!"

"I think I need to sit down."

There was a long silence.

"So, Stiffy... You are not happy with simple cooking? Toast with orange marmalade?"

The elf started to wring his towel nervously.

"Stiffy is not complaining, Master Harry, sir..."

"But you'd prefer if I let you cook whatever you please, six courses per meal and so on?"

Elf's eyes flashed. "Stiffy can do it, sir?"

"Ehm... Maybe three would be enough. Including desserts," he added quickly, "Sorry, Stiffy, but I'm not going to gain a hundred pounds to make you happy."

"Don't worry, Harry, I'm sure Stiffy knows many excellent diet recipes, don't you Stiffy?" Ron reached for another bun.

"Of course I is knowing! Stiffy was a second helper to Dratty and Dratty was Mistress Narcissa special cook!"

"So you see. All problems solved."

The large eyes brightened. The elf smoothed his towel and walked to the pantry with a very purposeful stride.

Hermione got up and stretched her back.

"My goodness, what a day. I think we all need some tea." She moved towards the stove.

"Ehrm."

Landowners's expression stopped her. He rolled his eyes in the direction of the other elf.

She sighed. "Ah, yes, tea. Ehm... Winky, would you mind making us some?"